Harry Potter and the Mole of Hogwarts
by dance-of-the-grindylows
Summary: When malicious rumours begin to crop up in the common rooms, Hogwarts begins to buzz. As more accusations crop up and supposed secrets are revealed, Harry, Ron and Hermione decide to put a stop to it. But who is Hogwarts' mysterious 'Mole?  no warnings
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Harry Potter and the Mole of Hogwarts  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Chapter #:<strong> 1 of 3  
><strong>Ships:** - _(slight Ron/Hermione hints)_  
><strong>Eras:** Hogwarts  
><strong>Genres:** Friendship, Mystery, General

**NOTE: I recommend you read this in 3/4 width and with the font size 2 steps bigger than the preset. It looks a lot nicer and much easier to read, I think:)**

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rewriting the epilogue right now._

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><p>As the boys of Gryffindor stretched and groggily rubbed their eyes, groaning in their four-posters, they awoke thinking that early spring Thursday morning would be like any other: bitter-cold and mind-numbingly dull. Harry Potter climbed out of bed, his feet wriggling into his slippers and hand reaching out for his glasses as they did daily. He glanced over at Ron, who was leaning against his ebony headboard and yawning. The two teenagers exchanged mumbled good-mornings and began to dress themselves, their nostrils quivering with anticipation at the scent of sizzling bacon drifting through their dormitory window. All was typical: Seamus had to fall victim of a flung shoe to the face before he finally rejoined the awake and conscious; Dean hogged the adjoining bathroom's streaky mirror; Neville tended meticulously to his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, sprinkling olive-green flakes over it.<p>

Together, Harry and Ron headed for the common room, expecting to see Hermione sitting cross-legged on their favourite sofa, nose buried in a book as it usually was.

But not today. Instead, as they reached the lowermost step of the dormitory's winding staircase, their eyes fell upon a bustling crowd of Gryffindors swarming around the notice-board. Instinctively, their first assumption was that Fred and George were selling off their Wizard Wheezes wares, but this theory fell flat on its back as Harry spotted the backs of the twins' heads bobbing around, trying to get a better view of whatever was occurring.

"What in the name of Merlin...?" Ron sent a quizzical glimpse at Harry, who shrugged. Curious, the pair began to advance forwards, approaching the rear of the crowd, but were cut short by a bushy-haired girl who dashed over to them, babbling rapidly and fretfully. It would be difficult, bordering on impossible, for anyone else to understand a word of she was saying, but Harry and Ron had experienced years of practice.

"It's so awful, I don't know who on Earth would say such a thing, especially about poor Neville, I hate to think it was one of our Gryffindors too, and oh, how dare they tell such a spiteful lie! Lavender Brown and Parvati think it's uproarious, of course, they won't stop giggling, I really want to give them both a hard slap—"

"Hermione," said Ron, speaking deliberately and firmly, stopping her jabbering immediately, "what the hell are you talking about?"

Hermione's eyes darted between the two boys; both shared a bewildered expression. She frowned, her neat brows puckering. "Haven't you seen?"

"Seen _what_, Hermione?"

With a great sigh, she grabbed Ron's hand and dragged him through the assembly, pushing through to the front. Elbows digging the other students out of the way, Harry followed, jostling through the hubbub until there was nobody left in front of him and his view of the notice-board was unobstructed.

His heart plummeted, the colour draining from his cheeks simultaneously. There, on the wooden pin-board, tacked up over Quidditch practice schedules and Wizard Wheezes flyers, was a large banner, curling at the corners. Printed boldly in thick black lettering were the words:

_**01. NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM DANCES IN HIS UNDERWEAR.**_

Harry's stomach churned in its pit. His memory couldn't help but flit back to the messages decreed on Hogwarts' walls during his second year, messages that had ultimately been written by Tom Riddle himself, using Ginny Weasley as his medium. Obviously, the danger in this malicious announcement was far less than that in the ones in second year, but there was still the danger of severe humiliation on Neville's behalf. Who could have written such a bizarre slander? Whether it was a lie or not, it should never have been so publicly proclaimed. Harry's eyes scanned the horizontal roll of parchment for a signature, name, anything – but the only trace of identification on the sign was a small illustration of what looked like a tiny mole, holding a finger to its whiskers.

He understood the dry humour of the image, what with a 'mole' being another term for 'spy', but didn't find it funny one bit. Jointly, he, Hermione and Ron backed away from the notice-board over to the cushy armchairs by the common room fireplace, which currently lay unlit. After holding an expectant expression for a while before realising that neither of the boys was going to speak, Hermione piped up quietly.

"I can't believe it," she said reproachfully, shaking her head.

"I can," retorted Ron with a small smirk. Hermione shot him a withering look whilst Harry bit his lip to withhold smirking along with Ron. He couldn't help but feel sorry for Neville; if it had been anyone else on the receiving end of the hate-banner, the statement would have been shrugged off – but it had to be _Neville_, which made the rumour, well, slightly believable, he had to admit.

"Has Neville seen it, d'you think?" Harry asked. He had directed the question to Hermione, who he supposed had been in the common room long enough to see, however it was Ron who answered.

"Nah, he was in the dorm when we came downstairs," he replied, casting a glance towards the foot of the spiral staircase. "Probably still grooming that Mimblytonia thing of his even now," he finished, ignoring Hermione's interjected correction of the plant's name.

Harry dusted his thighs and made to stand up. "Well, although I do have sympathy for him and everything, I don't think I want to be around when he sees it." Hermione frowned slightly at this, but had to nod her agreement too whilst Ron leapt to his feet saying it was about time he ate some breakfast.

The three of them made their way out of the common room, manoeuvring past the notice-board huddle that was still murmuring about Neville, on their way to the Great Hall. They descended the many staircases to the ground floor quickly and quietly; it seemed that each of their minds was too preoccupied with mulling over Neville's predicament to start a chat. The comfortable silence was broken, however, as they neared the lofty Entrance Hall, when Hermione raised an intriguing point that until then, Harry had not yet picked up on.

"What do you two take from the numbering of the banner? It labelled the scroll as the first, remember, as if there were more to come – oh my..."

Her musings trailed off when they reached the polished oak doors to the Great Hall; a swelling buzz of chatter and a great deal of rushing around inside distracted her. Harry guessed the reason behind the heightened state of Hogwarts commotion, and as he passed other students on his way up to the Gryffindor table, overhearing snatches of their conversations, his spirits sank – he had been right. Everyone was discussing Neville. Ahead of him he spotted Draco Malfoy lounging on the Slytherin table, oozing conceit and arrogance. Harry tried to keep his eyes fixed ahead, knowing that a slur would come and determined to ignore it.

"Hey, Granger!"

Right on cue, Malfoy's sneer caused his onlookers to stop silent and watch. Harry could practically see through their temples, look at their brains begging him to react for her. He kept walking, his pace only faltering slightly, but after a few steps realised that Ron and Hermione had paused; they were now glaring at Malfoy, waiting for him to finish off the imminent insult.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" asked Hermione.

"I was just going to ask if _that's_ the reason you've been hanging around the Gryffindor boys' dormitories so often lately?"

The joke was ridiculous, as untrue as Malfoy having a pleasant bone in his body. Hermione scowled at him and began to walk on, but Ron remained still, glowering at the supercilious Slytherin and his cackling audience.

"Oh jog on, Malfoy," he said indignantly, "we all know you're the one that's been doing that."

With that, he turned to catch up to Harry and Hermione, leaving behind an astounded Malfoy and galled-looking band of Slytherins. They took a seat at the Gryffindor table, each reaching for a selection of the vast array of breakfast foods – even liquorice sticks, oddly enough – and juices. Munching quietly for a while, the only thing discussed was when the next Hogsmeade trip would be, until the loud voices of Fred and George carried through the Hall and diverted their attention.

The twins sat opposite Harry and Ron, on either side of Hermione, and immediately upon parking themselves on the bench leaned in and dropped their voices, eyes twinkling with adventure.

"So, the question is," began George.

"Who did it—"

"—and why?"

Despite the sensitivity of the matter, the blunt manner in which the twins had phrased their question reminded Harry awfully of one of those tiresome murder-mystery series that Aunt Petunia would often watch, with a sombre, distant sleuth starring and heaps of frenzied housewives murdering their husbands before sobbing at the detective's feet. Harry had never understood why Aunt Petunia had enjoyed those dramas so much – he could always tell who the killer was immediately anyway. He opened his mouth to reply, but the twins continued talking without bothering to wait for a response.

"See," said Fred, "at first we reckoned it was someone who'd had an argument with him..."

"...But how could you argue with Neville?" followed George. "He's like a teddy bear. So instead, we've decided it was someone who wanted to embarrass him..."

"...Because, let's face it," said Fred sympathetically, "that option's a bit easier to understand."

Hermione was chewing her lip, processing the new offerings in her mind, whilst Harry and Ron murmured their agreement.

"But who? Who'd want to say something like that?" pressed Harry, looking at each of his friends' faces individually to drive the point home. He ended with Ron, who nodded.

"Yeah, I mean, Neville's alright. Never went out to hurt anyone, or argued much. I doubt it was Seamus or Dean, they seemed pretty normal this morning, and it wasn't me or Harry," he paused, his expression reflecting the whirring of his mind behind his forehead, "I don't really know who else he speaks to, to be honest."

"Well there's the Hufflepuffs – Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley," Harry picked up the list, eagerly adding a few more potential suspects, "oh, and not forgetting Luna, and Ginny—"

Interrupting, Hermione shook her head rigidly.

"I can hardly see any of them trying to start it, and besides, it couldn't have been anyone but a Gryffindor. We're getting too far ahead of ourselves."

Ron glanced at his watch before delivering a sentence that washed away the sticky silence following Hermione's harsh interjection.

"Well, we'll be getting too far ahead of McGonagall if we don't get a move on, come on," he said as they shrugged their bags onto their shoulders, bade a rushed goodbye to the twins, and hastened off to Transfiguration.

All three, although they didn't wish to bring it up, shared the same unease in their guts. It wasn't down to the bacon, however. It was the internal warning that the day was going to get worse as it progressed.

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><p><em>AN: Not the best start but do please stick with me, it's a little better in the next chapter:)_

_Written for the **Confessions Challenge **by **psychopath-convention**. _

_Hope you like it!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Harry Potter and the Mole of Hogwarts  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Chapter #:<strong> 2 of 3  
><strong>Ships:** - _(slight hints of Ron/Hermione)_  
><strong>Eras:** Hogwarts  
><strong>Genres:** Friendship, Mystery, General

**NOTE: I recommend you read this in 3/4 width and with the font size 2 steps bigger than the preset. It looks a lot nicer and much easier to read, I think:)**

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rewriting the epilogue right now._

* * *

><p>"Twenty points taken because the mixture wasn't ruby; it was 'more like scarlet' – <em>honestly<em>?"

"'Check Weasley's hair for future reference'! Cheeky git. I know what I'd like to check with him."

As usual, Potions last thing had sent their fairly pleasant dispositions to execution and replaced their moods with a blend of anger, spite and frustration. Trudging up to the common room for the hour before it was time for dinner, Harry and Ron were muttering all the things they wished to do to Snape, the answers ranging from mildly violent hexes to gruesome deaths involving every kind of magical creature they could think of and a coil of rope. Hermione listened to the boys' complaining the whole way up to Gryffindor Tower, occasionally unable to refrain from a chuckle at some of the plots they were throwing out. She was mostly quiet, but the tooth that was digging into her lip signalled her worry over something. Harry spotted this as they neared the portrait and cut over Ron's latest scheme to ask her.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

She dropped her eyes to the stone floor, her neck rippling with a gulp. "Hermione."

"Well, it's just that ... I'm scared."

"Scared of what? Ending up like Snape, mauled to death by a—"

"No, Ron," she glimpsed up to shoot him a thunderous glance. "Scared that it's happened again. The messages, the Mole. That it might be me – or one of us, whatever..."

She paused to let Ron utter the password and the portrait swing to the side whilst Harry patted her shoulder, telling her not to worry. He'd had experience with rumours and lies; far too much than a teenager should have, truthfully. On the contrary, though, the lifetime of speculation and being caged under a spotlight had toughened Harry, given him a thicker skin and steelier attitude. He knew how to handle it, and had no worries whatsoever regarding the Mole attacking him – if they did he'd wave it away. People would still talk, the speculation would be near as twice as much as had happened with Neville that day, but when they realised it wasn't bothering him, it would cease. He had tried to explain this to Neville first lesson. He had come into Transfiguration late; the Ravenclaws averted their gaze and the Gryffindors gave wan smiles as he'd entered, their conversations falling silent at once. After Professor McGonagall had finished outlining the week's assignment of homework, Harry had took him aside and explained gently that the Gryffindors were behind him, that they understood it was all false, that no matter what happened in a week or so people would be over it. He was worried, however, that he had came off a little patronising to Neville, but this qualm was softened by the knowledge that Neville held Harry highly in his opinions; he would take his advice as a comfort, not a put-down.

As Harry followed Ron into the common room, all of these thoughts were eliminated, blown up into smithereens immediately. The crowd had reformed around the notice-board, and he was certain that the original banner had been replaced; Neville was already beginning to be old news. This time, it was someone else, he was sure of it.

Almost knocking Colin Creevey over, Harry sprinted over to the centre of the throng, shoving and pushing through the assembly to read the latest offering from the anonymous gossip-spreader:

_**02. VINCENT CRABBE CRIES HIMSELF TO SLEEP.**_

Although it sounded undoubtedly awful even when confessing it to himself, Harry had to say that his reaction this time was far less angry than when the target was Neville. In fact, his initial response was a short bark of laughter, slashed down immediately when he realised that other people were around to hear it. Hermione and Ron had caught up to him by now and were also staring at the notice. Ron's face looked presumably like the mirror image of Harry's, a small, smug smile on his lips that he was visibly attempting to tame, whereas Hermione's expression was one of confidence mingled with anxiety; she had been correct in guessing that there would be more 'revelations' to come. Harry wondered why she was so bothered about being a potential target – it was certainly not that she was vain, or that she felt it would tarnish her reputation, for Hermione didn't care for those things. Maybe she really did have a secret to hide?

Harry batted away the thought at once. The chaos of these rumours was beginning to make him doubt his own friends, and he wouldn't let that happen. Instead, he caught their eyes and inclined his head towards the desks lined next to the tower's opposite wall. Ron and Hermione understood, and the trio slunk away discreetly to the farthest desk.

Hermione looked like she would implode if she didn't begin speaking immediately, so Harry nodded to her (both Ron and Hermione had been staring wordlessly at him, waiting). She returned a tight nod and then opened her mouth, the thoughts and words gushing out like raging rapids.

"Do you see what this means? It means that the messages are being displayed in each House's common room, not just Gryffindor. That explains why the news spread so quickly in the Great Hall this morning, why Malfoy seemed to know what was going on before even Neville had seen the banner, why there's such pandemonium about the whole thing. And do you understand what we know now? If it's being broadcast in every common room, it could have been anyone in the entire school. _Anyone_. Now, where to go from this ... I think it would be most prudent if we began to investigate, interrogate. I highly doubt the Mole to be anyone out of our year, that's somewhere to start ..."

"Hermione."

Her head snapped up at Harry's interruption, her expression one of aggravation.

"What?"

"You're forgetting something," he continued, wary that she might slap him at any moment if he dared tread too far over her conclusion, "this one's aimed at Crabbe, right? I agree that it's probably somebody in our year, but it could still be a Gryffindor. Remember Hermione, these are just accusations, not facts."

She sniffed, looking disgruntled. "I suppose you're right. But still..."

"Hermione," said Ron benignly, "it'd be better if we just waited a while for the other Houses to react, like Harry said. That way we'll have a better idea of things, you know, and after that we can start asking around. Yeah?"

Hermione gave non-committal nod in response and averted her eyes, her head turning to face away from the two boys. Harry groaned internally; he hated when she was in a mood with them, a huffy Hermione was not a fun one. He cast a glance out of the window, the afternoon sky still exhibiting a light blue, and a notion came to the forefront of his memory, an idea that could cheer all three of them up.

"I nearly forgot," he said, "Hagrid sent me an owl inviting us to tea this week, remember? D'you want to go now?"

"Sounds like a good plan, mate," Ron agreed, smiling back at him, "what do you think, Hermione?"

"I suppose."

Harry clapped his hands together and jumped up. It was a start, he thought to himself – at least she was speaking to them.

Two hours later, their stomachs sloshing with pumpkin juice and their teeth still slightly sticky with the remnants of Hagrid's treacle fudge cakes, the three students made their way back to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione had perked up a short while after arriving at the half-giant's humble hut, something that Harry had predicted would happen: it was almost impossible not to feel cheerful around Hagrid – that is, unless you were a Slytherin. After saying the password for the second time that evening, the trio clambered through the open hole and felt the gentle _swish_ of breeze as the hinged portrait re-affixed itself to the wall. They were laughing, remembering something that Harry had said back down at the hut, as they took a look around the common room; empty, its usual occupants must still be at the Great Hall, eating dinner. They took a few more steps into the tower, tossing their overcoats and woollen hats onto the back of the nearest armchair, before collapsing into one of the squashy sofas with a sigh. Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at the fireplace, prepared to ignite the logs with a neat flick of the elegant vine fashioned by Ollivander—

A nearby velvet hanging of the Gryffindor emblem sprung into flames. In turning to light the fire, Hermione had glimpsed the notice-board and missed with the shock.

_**03. ERNIE MACMILLAN IS AFRAID OF THE DARK.**_

The Mole had struck again.

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><p><em>AN: I'm really happy to see that the first chapter got some instant reviews and the number of people adding me/the fic to their alerts, so thank you very much! As always, reviews would be extremely wonderful, but I'm not going to stuff the plugging down your throats. Thanks to all that are reading and liking it, the final chapter will be up soon!:}_


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Harry Potter and the Mole of Hogwarts  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Chapter #:<strong> 3 of 3  
><strong>Ships:** N/A, although Ron/Hermione is hinted at  
><strong>Eras:** Hogwarts  
><strong>Genres:** Friendship, Mystery, General

**NOTE: I recommend you read this in 3/4 width and with the font size 2 steps bigger than the preset. It looks a lot nicer and much easier to read, I think:)**

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rewriting the epilogue right now._

A/N: Thank you to all of those who have added the story (or me as an author) to their alerts and to the few reviewers so far; I'm preciously grateful to everyone who's enjoying my work:]

* * *

><p>Harry leapt to his feet: "<em>Aguamenti<em>!"

A jet of water shot from his wand, quickly quelling the fire. He flicked the wand once more and the blast of teal ceased along with Hermione's shrieks. Instantly, an inspired idea came to him; acting upon it immediately he dashed towards the pair of spiral staircases that led to the dormitories, jerking Ron along and yelling over his shoulder at Hermione, instructing her to search the dorms. She gasped, understanding the thought process behind this sudden spin into motion, and hastened to the girls' arch. He could hear her rapid pattering up the steps as he and Ron also tore into their dormitory.

Empty.

They scurried back to the staircase, darting into each room individually to no avail; Harry spot-searched the dormitories above theirs whilst Ron glanced around the ones below them. He had just raced into his third room when a loud, high-pitched yelp echoed from the direction of the girls' rooms.

"Harry! Ron! Come down, quick!"

Hermione's sudden call for them was unusually shrill. Thundering back down the steps, towards the common room, Harry collided with Ron halfway and the pair made it to the bottom of the staircase to find Hermione struggling with a thrashing other girl – after a moment she was whirled around so that the boys could see her face: Lavender Brown.

"I found her hiding in our dormitory," panted Hermione, but she was cut across by a wailing Lavender who had, at least, stopped thrashing.

"I didn't do it, I swear! I was taking a nap because I don't feel too well, and I feel much worse now after you've practically kidnapped me!" the girl snapped, still being held by her upper arms by Hermione.

"Liar," snarled Ron, "you're the only one here, and this wasn't on the wall when we left. How could it have been anyone else?"

The three of them had never much liked Lavender in their time at Hogwarts; her constant giggling disposition chewed on their nerves. However, they had never felt any real _hate_ towards the girl until that moment, whilst they stood wands out in the common room, watching her wriggle and protest.

"Why did you do it? Why Neville? Crabbe? Ernie?" Harry pushed on, seething. Neville was his friend, he had always been downright kind to Harry, but he couldn't see any reason for Lavender to target him and the others. Sure, she lapped up gossip like a cat to milk, yet there was something not quite right about the situation: what incentive did she have to spread hurtful rumours about them?

Lavender screamed.

The sudden screech caused Hermione to let go of her grip, she stumbled backwards and steadied herself whilst Lavender shrieked, so piercingly it hurt their ears.

"_LET GO OF ME AND ALLOW ME TO EXPLAIN_!"

Stunned, the other three stood in deadly, smothering silence. Lavender glared at each of them in turn before nodding curtly. "I didn't write those things about Ernie. Or Crabbe. But," she paused, tentative, wringing her hands as she pressed her eyes shut and spoke the rest in a nervous blur, "I wrote the first about Neville and I'm so really sorry, I am, truly."

Standing steely, fists clenched at his sides, Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Why?"

His question sounded like a hiss, spoken with pure malice as he stared at the dithering girl, waiting for a response.

"It – it was a dare," she replied, her cheeks flushing pink.

"A _dare_? You made Neville's life momentarily hell for a _dare_?"

He felt like he was going to hit her at any moment; his temper beginning to seem like a simmering cauldron ready to boil over and explode if only a drop of something imperfect was added.

Lavender began to cry, a bead of crystalline tears forming in the rim of each eye and racing the other down her cheeks. "I know," she said quietly. "I know, and I hate it, but the other messages weren't me, I promise." With no response to her quivering confession, she continued shakily. "Parvati – Parvati dared me to write it, we were playing a game, so at night I crept down and did it. I didn't number it, though, or draw that otter –"

"Mole," breathed Hermione. "It was a mole."

"—whatever it was, I didn't do it, but by the time I'd woken up in the morning and it had all happened ... well, I was distraught..."

As she trailed off, Harry remembered something.

"You're lying. You weren't 'distraught' in the least – I saw you and Parvati laughing together. Care to explain?"

"You three don't know Parvati like I do. Sure, laugh along with her, because if you don't, you pay the price. You're ignored, cast out, snubbed for a day. It sounds juvenile, I know," Lavender's eyes dropped to the floor – she looked like a naughty child being reprimanded by their parents, "but it's actually really, really awful."

Hermione bit her lip. She recalled all of the nights that she'd Lavender sniffing softly in the dormitory, late at night when the girl probably thought nobody could hear. Lavender was telling the truth. Glancing at Harry and Ron, she saw that they were also lost for words, but before she could grasp the chance to try and confront Lavender's latest offering the portrait hole swung open and about two dozen lively Gryffindors entered, stopping in their tracks at the sight of the trio glaring heatedly at the weeping Lavender.

The four students watched the others' eyes flick from their positions to the notice-board, their expressions flying from shock to confusion to apparent realisation.

Then, a nasty shock came with the provision of a fourth-year's unexpected accusation: "_Harry Potter is the Hogwarts Mole_!"

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><p><em>AN: Don't fret, confused readers! The mystery's not quite over yet ... typically of me, I couldn't resist another cliffhanger. I feel so rebellious - keep your eyes peeled for the final chapter which will be up soon, and let me know what you think of this one! _


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Harry Potter and the Mole of Hogwarts  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Chapter #:<strong> 4 of 4  
><strong>Ships:** - _(strong Ron/Hermione hints)_  
><strong>Eras:** Hogwarts  
><strong>Genres:** Friendship, Mystery, General

**NOTE: I recommend you read this in 3/4 width and with the font size 2 steps bigger than the preset. It looks a lot nicer and much easier to read, I think:)**

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rewriting the epilogue right now._

* * *

><p>Harry rolled over in his bed, his forehead daubed with sweat. It was approximately four o'clock in the morning; he had had a late night and was undoubtedly exhausted, but the evening's stressful occurrences were still gnawing at his mind, shaking him awake every time he so much as closed his eyes.<p>

After the abrupt exclamation from the fourth-year, all heads had snapped towards him. It was as if there had been a dam near the entrance to the common room; a blockade that suddenly snapped, causing a flood of Gryffindor students to spill into the room, all rushing straight towards Harry, halting roughly a metre away and snarling. What pained Harry the most about this, what made him feel numb and sick to the stomach, was that near the front of this accusing-looking mob was none other than Neville. Carrying an expression of mingled unease and bitter disappointment, his eyes had been fixed on the scarlet carpet and he appeared wan, ashen. There were a few moments of stillness, before the flood barriers were broken once more and a crashing wave of insults and questions was hurled towards Harry.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking like a goldfish, but no words could come out. The abuse and interrogations carried on coming, the wave morphing into a tsunami that was rapidly gathering speed, until—

"OI!"

Ron's bellow shot a silence over the crowd. He nodded, apparently satisfied, before "Alright, that's better. Let him speak."

Inclining his head gratefully to his best friend, Harry held up his hands in a way that he hoped made him appear as open and honest as his words. "I honestly, guys, am not the perpetrator behind this. Look," he continued as groans of disbelief and cynicism met him from the crowd, "I don't know what—"

"It was me."

Lavender's firm interjection shifted the Gryffindors' attention once more, and Harry's head joined the others in whipping around this time. "Lavender, you don't ..."

"Yes, I do. I have to tell you all the truth. I wrote it," she spoke clearly yet nervously, "well, the first one anyway. I'm so sorry, Neville. I didn't mean to, I regret it so much – it was Parvati, she pressured me into it, and, and..."

Roughly five seconds after Lavender's declaration of her guilt, the common room burst into outrage. Parvati leapt forwards, to their surprise and horror, and began to claw at Lavender like a tiger. The fourth-year who had pinned the blame on Harry less than three minutes previously was still bellowing his case, sparking arguments between those who agreed with him and those who didn't. Fred and George were part of the latter side, and decided to swiftly hex the mouthy fourth-year, shutting him up immediately – this backfired, obviously, as those of the other opinion retaliated. Soon, everyone was caught up in flying jinxes and spells, voices roaring so strident that Harry was certain McGonagall would enter at any moment. No-one had quite a clue what was going on, other than the realisation to duck behind an armchair or crouch under a desk, and as the air was suddenly filled with the trademark green, foul-smelling gas of a Dungbomb, the volume rising further still, a deafening, powerful intonation called out:

"EVERYBODY STOP!"

The voice was somehow a much louder magnitude to the other shrieks and hollers, so much so that the Gryffindor common room fell silent. None other than Neville Longbottom, quite forgotten about during the ruckus, was standing separate from the main bulk of the riot, his arms waving above his head. Everybody was stunned; nobody had heard Neville's voice raise much higher than a shout before, and even then it was a timid one. All heads swivelled towards the boy, who was positioned next to the notice-board that had caused the commotion in the first place.

"Look," he said quietly, his finger reaching out to point at the board.

In the short time that had elapsed during the skirmishing, a change of scenery had gone unnoticed. The lettering had changed, as had the subject, but the gist was the same. A gasp emanated from the students in unison, followed by a more prominent female wail.

_**04. Hermione Granger has never been kissed.**_

The uproar did not resume – the Gryffindors were all too shocked and confused to speak. All stood stock-still for a minute, glancing between Neville and the notice-board. Harry himself was utterly bewildered; how had the Mole managed to change the message unnoticed? Certainly, all in the room had been distracted somewhat, but surely _someone_ would have spotted them switching the signs?

Then the significance of this particular message hit home: _Hermione_.

His mind flashed back to the occurrence outside the portrait hole, his confusion at Hermione's worry of becoming the next victim. He remembered the passing notion he had batted away, the one of Hermione having something to hide, and as the fact that this fresh 'confession' was in fact the truth struck him, the only other person in the room seemed to come to the same conclusion simultaneously: Ron leapt atop the small round table in the rough centre of the room. Once everyone's attention had turned to him, he cast a look at Hermione – head turned away from the others, slumped on the sofa, hands over her face –, gulped, then spoke.

"Confession five: I'm secretly jealous of my brothers. Besides," he continued through the collective gasp of the crowd watching him, "I'm pretty certain number four can be easily fixed."

Hermione had looked up at her saviour halfway through his sentence, watching open-mouthed as he jumped down from the table to fill the space next to her, grabbed her cheeks, pulled her head close to his and planted a mighty kiss on her lips. She returned it fervently - to the watching crowd's whoops and cheers - and they did not break away even as the twins leapt up onto their nearest desk and cleared their throats too.

"Confession six," they began in union, "we've been waiting for that to happen all year!"

Once again the Gryffindors laughed and applauded, some not knowing where to look as more people sprung up above the masses:

"Seven," said Seamus, "I'm extremely ticklish!"

The handsome Irish boy was immediately dragged back into the crowd at this, squealing girls reaching out to test the truth of his exclamation, whilst Ginny took his place, pointing at Dean.

"Eight," she began rather sheepishly, as the assembly's vision shifted between the redheaded girl and her recently dumped boyfriend, "you, Dean Thomas, still have my heart."

'Ooh's and 'aah's came from the Gryffindors this time, as Ginny skipped from the table and into the arms of a waiting Dean, who spun her around as she landed.

Angelina Johnson chose that moment to hoist herself onto a desk on the other side of the common room. She held her arms out in a 'no-regrets' shrug and laughed, "Nine: I'm extremely competitive!"

Her joke was returned through eye-rolls and sarcastic, but light-hearted, shouts by the crowd. Then, everyone – except Hermione and Ron, who were still entwined and didn't seemed to have surfaced for air, much to Harry's worry – hushed, holding their breath as Neville raised himself shakily onto the desk that Angelina had just vacated. Sweeping his gaze through the crowd and holding himself confidently, he spoke.

"Yeah, who cares if I dance in my underwear sometimes?"

...

FIN

* * *

><p><em>AN: Wow, well it's finally finished! I hope you guys enjoyed the ending, I thought it was a little cringey myself but ho-hum, it's done. This was written for the **Confessions Challenge** by **psychopath-convention** which was a cracking challenge and one I thoroughly enjoyed participating in. Anyway, I hope all who read the story enjoyed it and would please leave a review; it makes my day so much better! _

_Thank you to the existing reviewers too, I'm glad you liked the story:]_


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